


but break, my heart; for i must hold my tongue

by Scrivoio



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Batfam Feels, Bulimia, Depression, Developing Relationship, Dick/Roy mentioned, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Tim Drake, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Jason Todd, Teambuilding, but its also DC so canon isnt even real, kind of canon compliant in the beginning, mostly angst, past relationship, very little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrivoio/pseuds/Scrivoio
Summary: He remembers the way Tim had looked, curled into the fetal position on the floor, bloody and broken and so, so small. He remembers Tim’s eyes, full of tears and bloodshot to hell, widening in surprise, dark eyebrows knitting together on his forehead.“Hood,” Tim had said, raising a shaky hand, caked in blood, touching Jason more gently than he could ever remember being touched, “You came. You came.”Jason’s heart had broken a little bit. He’d gripped Tim a little tighter in his arms. He never wanted to let go; wasn’t sure if he could.Looking back, that might have been the moment that he had fallen in love with Tim Drake, curled up bloody and dirty on the floor of an abandoned warehouse in Gotham’s meatpacking district.[I wrote this entire fic without editing or proofreading at all because i'm a clown,,, so i'm gonna try to fix it? maybe make it less shit lol??? idk anyway it's undergoing som serious editing]





	1. hold my body down

Tim gets kidnaped late in November. 

The leaves in Gotham have long since turned from fiery reds and oranges to a crisp brown. It’s bitter and windy outside, cold enough that Tim comes back to the Cave every night after patrolling borderline hypothermic. 

As Tim shivers, perching himself on a rooftop, he thinks about how strange it is that he hasn’t seen Jason in weeks. If there’s one person who hates the cold more than Tim, it’s Jason. _ Maybe he needed a break from Gotham_, Tim thinks, _ Maybe he’s on some sunny getaway island with Kori and Roy. Maybe that’s why he’s been absent lately. _

Jason’s been in and out of Gotham lately, so it’s not really a surprise that he’s out at the moment. He’s slowly rebuilding the bridges he’d burned when he first came back as Red Hood. 

(For a while, Tim had taken to calling him _ Jason II _ in his head; this boy who had returned to them so suddenly isn’t the same boy Bruce had buried.)

Eventually, though, Tim began to see glimpses of the old Jason poking through the carefully crafted facade of anger and hate. 

Jason had gone off the reservation; nobody had any doubts about that. He’s not a Bat anymore; Bats don’t kill. But he’s not an indiscriminate killing machine, either. 

Dick could never really understand. He’s always been the perfect Bat. Or, at least, he’s always pretended to be. Tim, though, ever the pragmatist, follows the logic of Jason’s perspective. Part of him wants to relate to Dick’s idealism, but he knows that deep down, he agrees with Jason. They’re both cut from the same cloth: ruthless, determined, calculating. 

Jason brought back Kori and Roy once. Tim’s still not sure what his rationale was. Maybe he wanted Bruce to see that he really had moved on and found a new team. Maybe he wanted to prove that he really was a good person and a team player. Maybe he just wanted everyone else to share in the happiness of his found family, even just for a little while. 

_ They really are like a family_, Tim thinks. It’s like all three of them have some extranormal psychic link, like they all know how the other two are feeling, or what they’re thinking. It’s most obvious in battle, with the way they move around each other like it’s second nature, like it comes as easily as breathing. 

Roy and Kori are good people. They are amicable, most of the time. Easy to talk to, easy to get along with. 

The problem arose with Dick. He’d broken their hearts, all three of them. He’d lost faith in Jason, abandoned Roy, and left Kori in the dust. Jason had issues with Bruce, too, but they avoided each other. Avoided conflict. Dick, on the other hand… He sought Jason out, tried to make amends. Usually, he just made things worse. 

Maybe it was Dick, and not the cold weather, that drove Jason away in the end.

Tim is ruminating over all this: the intensely tangled relationships of their team members, the complicated feelings, trying to balance everything, and his job at Wayne Industries… He has too much on his plate; he’s wearing thin.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. Leans back against a filthy brick chimney and looks out over the Gotham skyline. Yawns. Takes another deep breath. Tries his best to psych himself up to make it through the night,_ just make it through the night_. 

.

Tim’s focus doesn’t improve in the coming days. If anything, it deteriorates even more. 

Alongside family drama, there’s been a break-in at the Wayne Industries biotech facility. It wasn’t a disaster, and nothing too important seems to have been stolen, but everything in the facility was classified, which means a lot of paperwork for Tim.

Needless to say, he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. He’s not at the top of his game. Nowhere near it. So, one night, when he’s especially sloppy, he lets his defenses down. Just for a moment, but it’s enough. 

Enough that it surprises him when he feels a pinch in his back, between his ribs. 

He has just enough time to think, _ tranq dart _ before the world goes black. 

. 

Tim feels cold hands on his face, smells rank breath in his nostrils. His eyes ache and his throat is dry. He can feel his wrists chafe where they’re tied behind his back.

“This one’ll fetch a pretty penny, huh?” The man taps Tim’s cheek. “Still out cold.” There’s some rustling and the sound of tape before Tim feels the hand again. This time, it’s pressing a strip of duct tape across Tim’s mouth. “This’ll keep him shut up when he finally comes to.” 

Tim could blink his eyes. He could look around the room and assess his situation. He could do _ something_. He wants to. 

But he can’t. He has to pretend to be unconscious still, gather as much information as he can, strike at the first opportunity. They’d caught him out of costume; they didn’t know his status as Robin. Odds are, these are a couple of D-list thugs looking to make a quick buck off of Bruce Wayne’s ransom money. 

Bruce will find him, though. Tim’s sure of it. He just has to stay alive until that happens. 

_ ‘This one’ll fetch a pretty penny.’ _ That’s what the man had said. If he wasn’t kidnapped for being a Wayne heir, maybe human trafficking? _ That could be convenient_, thinks Tim. Taking down a trafficking ring from the inside. Bummer he didn’t have time to do any recon first, but he’s been trained to adapt.

No matter what the case is, the fact remains that Tim can’t pretend to be unconscious indefinitely. He has to come up with a plan. At some point, they’ll come back to check up on him. Until then, he’s just going to have to lay low.

.

Tim doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, he’s still tied to the chair. He opens his eyes, closing them barely a moment later. The lights are too bright, the sound of his own breathing far too loud. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his skull. 

“Wha’s gon’ on?” The words fall out of his mouth, slurred and near incomprehensible. 

There’s movement in his peripheral vision, then a face right in front of Tim’s own. Less of a face than a horrific mask, Tim thinks. 

_ Scarecrow_. 

“Say hi to daddy!” 

. 

“Call Jason.” Those are the first words out of Dick’s mouth when they get the call. “He needs to get back here. He and Tim have never been close, but he’s… He’d want to help with this.” 

Bruce grunts, staring at the monitors in front of him. They’re in the Batcave, analyzing CCTV footage from the last six hours, looking everywhere for Tim. They’d been concerned when Tim hadn’t checked in for the start of his partol. It was even more alarming when he wouldn’t answer on the comms (or his Wayne Industries phone, _ or _ his personal cell). 

At 2AM, Bruce received a video clip. It was sent through his Wayne Enterprises email address, to Bruce Wayne, not Batman. It started off grainy, incomprehensible. There were shuffling noises, some mumbling, then the frame seemed to settle. 

“_ Say ‘hi’ to Daddy. _” 

Dick’s blood had run cold when he heard it. They all knew that voice- knew what it meant to hear it so soon after Tim had disappeared. _ Scarecrow was behind the kidnapping. _

Dick, more than anyone, knew what that sociopath was capable of. For Tim to be helpless and alone with that monster? The thought made Dick feel ill. 

In the video, Tim’s head is lolling to the side, his eyes open but blank. _ Heavily sedated_, Dick’s mind supplies. _ At least he isn’t really aware of what is going on. _

“Get Barbara on the phone, too,” Dick says, looking at Damian. The youngest Bat nods, heading off to comply. Dick looks at Alfred next. “Jason… He needs to know. I know you still talk to him. Please, just. Please.” 

Alfred only nods and leaves, but Dick knows his message has been received. Next, Dick walks over to Bruce, clamps a hand on his shoulder. “Tim isn’t Jason,” He says, treading carefully but making his point as concisely as he can. _ Tim is going to be okay. He’s going to make it out of this. I’m going to make sure of it. We’re all going to make sure of it. _

“I called Gordon,” Damian announced, reentering the room, “She says she is going to make a video call; she will be in contact with you.” 

Dick nodded. 

. 

“I can’t track it,” Barbara says, frowning. Her hands fly across the keyboard, eyes darting from screen to screen. Her eyebrows are furrowed in the middle of her forehead, brow creased in worry. “Someone’s bounced this back and forth off of about eight hundred satellites; I can’t pinpoint the I.P. address. Give me some time, I’ll figure something out.” 

Her image on the leftmost screen disappears with a blink. 

At that moment, Jason strides into the Batcave, Kori and Roy in his wake. “I know where he is.”

. 

Jason’s watching a movie when he gets the call. He’s sandwiched in between Kori and Roy. He’s relaxed. Warm. _ Happy_. It’s Bruce Willis Movie Marathon Night. They’re thirty minutes into _ Lethal Weapon _ and Roy’s already snoring. Jason has half a mind to wake him up, but Roy’s always been more of a _ Die Hard _fan, anyway.

The choice is taken out of his hands when the shrill ringing of a cell phone jerks Roy awake. Jason frowns. It’s Burner #5. “Only Alfred has this number,” Jason mumbles, flipping the cell open. Alfred only calls on Sundays, and only after five. It’s two in the morning on a Tuesday. _ Something’s not right_. 

Jason can feel his heartbeat pick up. By the time he puts the phone up to his ear, he’s already on his way to the door to pull his shoes on. Alfred explains the situation, says that they need him at the Cave. It’s the last place Jason wants to be, but he finds himself saying, “Thanks, Alf. We’re on our way.” He shoots a look over to Kori and Roy, swings a duffle bag over his shoulder. Says, “We’re going to Gotham.”

.

Jason had watched the video clip nearly thirty times, looking for any clue. Roy’s working with Barbara to try and track down the origin of the email, and Dick and Kori are somehow staring at each other and ignoring each other simultaneously. 

Roy and Jason are at the screens when a new video pops up from the same email address. “Bruce, Dick. You need to see this,” calls Jason, clicking on the video. 

It’s Tim, again, this time beat to a pulp and breathing heavily. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. The expression on his face is nothing of the boy Jason remembered. Instead, it’s desperate, animalistic. 

“Bruce,” He mutters, delirious, “Bruce, I’m here, come get me. Please…” 

Jason feels like he’s been punched in the gut, reminded vividly of his own death, his own last moments spent praying that Bruce would come to save him, that the famous Batman would prevail again. 

_ A fool’s hope_. 

He sees the color drain from Bruce’s face, knows he’s thinking the same thing. 

Jason clenches his jaw. He will not allow history to repeat itself with another Robin. _ Never again. _

.

They find Tim four hours later when Barbara and Roy finally pinpoint the warehouse. 

“I am going to kill him,” Jason says, making eye contact with Dick and Bruce in turn, “I’m going to kill Scarecrow and I am going to kill everyone that helped him, starting with those people in the warehouse. If you try to stop me, I might kill you, too.” 

He sees Bruce flinch— Bruce_, flinching _—and he sees the pain in Dick’s eyes. He knows they won’t try to stop him, knows that they are aware of just how serious he is. 

“Roy. Kori. With me.”

. 

Jason is alone with Kori and Roy when they get to the warehouse. He looks at them both, nodding once as he pushes open the doors. “Shoot to kill,” He says, and they do.

. 

“Hey, hey, replacement.” Tim’s vision swims as he opens his eyes, exhausted. “Tim. Talk to me, buddy. Come on.” 

Tim cracks his eyes open a little more, allowing his eyes to focus on the mask above him. “Hood,” He says, raising a shaky hand, resting his palm against the cool metal of the helmet, “You came. You came.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, buddy, I did. Of course, I did.”

Tim smiles at the crack in Jason’s voice, thick with emotion. “Jas’n. You came for me.” He sighs, closing his eyes and finally relaxing. 

. 

Jason sits beside Tim’s bed in the manor, fluffs his pillows, straightens his blankets, adjusts his IV as necessary. It took almost fifteen hours for Tim to wake up. All that time, Jason had been mostly alone with his thoughts. 

He remembers the way Tim had looked, curled into a fetal position on the floor, bloody and broken and so, so small. He remembers running over to him, administering the fear toxin antidote. He remembers Tim’s eyes, full of tears and bloodshot to hell, widening in surprise, dark eyebrows knitting together on his forehead. 

“Hood,” He’d said, raising a shaky hand, touching Jason more gently than he could ever remember being touched, “You came. You came.” 

Jason’s heart had broken a little bit. He’d gripped Tim a little tighter in his arms. He never wanted to let go; wasn’t sure if he could. 

Looking back, that might have been the moment that he had fallen in love with Tim Drake, curled up bloody and dirty on the floor of an abandoned warehouse in Gotham’s meatpacking district.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmfao yall college app season is upon us!! but good news- i'm applying for e/a most places (nov. 1 deadline), so updates will be regular after that. I've already got chapter 2 of this fic written, but i gotta do some last min checks for grammar and shit so i'll post that later this week (prolly thurs.-sat.) after i take care of that. 
> 
> for real tho: feedback means so much to me, good and bad. if you have any advice, i love to hear that shit. good feedback is always dope too tho. 
> 
> p.s.: my dunkin donuts order was #420 today and i literally laughed for like 45 seconds my life has hit Rock Bottom lmfao
> 
> if you wanna check me out on Tumblr, you can find it [here.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/scrivoiio)


	2. one need not be a chamber to be haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is falling apart; Jason figures it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for any ed mentions in this chapter (there are a few)

Tim groans, feeling nauseous. He sees a figure in his periphery jerk as if startled awake, rushing forward instinctively with a bucket. 

When Tim’s done being sick, he rinses out his mouth and looks up at the figure. Expecting it to be Alfred, or Dick, or even Bruce, he’s suitably startled when he sees Jason staring at him, eyebrows knit with concern, his warm hand still resting on Tim’s shoulder. 

“You’re real,” He says, blinking. “I thought… I thought it was another hallucination. Didn’t think that you’d come for me.” The  _ “I didn’t think anyone would come for me” _ stays unsaid.

“Yeah,” Jason replies, eyes shuttering closed, “That’s what you said back at the warehouse.” 

“You look horrible,” Tim notes, staring at the older boy. It’s true: Jason’s eyes are red-rimmed, surrounded by shadows that speak of a sleepless night or three. 

“Thanks,” Jason says, sarcastically. “Just what every heroic rescuer wants to hear from his damsel in distress.” 

Tim grunts in response, trying his best to sit up. “So, what’s the damage?” 

Jason shrugs, sitting up to help prop Tim’s back up with a pillow. “Nothing too extreme, really. A few cracked ribs, a sprained ankle. The biggest issue is going to be your leg.” 

“My leg?” Tim frowns. “I… I can’t even feel my toes. What’s wrong with my leg?” 

“Yeah,” Jason snorts, “That’s because you’re on enough local anesthetic to cripple a small elephant. You fractured your femur. It’s fucked in, like, three places. Bruce wanted you to be alert when you woke up, enough to tell him how the fuck two Irish thugs for hire in matching tracksuits got the jump on you.” 

“I was distracted.” 

“That’s unacceptable.” At some point, Bruce had appeared in the doorway, a looming presence. “You’re benched for the next two months, no question. If you can’t even handle a simple recon mission, you can’t be out in the field. You need to get a grip on yourself.” With that parting remark, he is gone. 

“What a  _ dick— _ ” 

“He’s right,” Tim inturrupts, not letting Jason stick up for him. “He’s right. I messed up, got sloppy. A mistake like that on a real mission… People could be hurt. I don’t deserve to be in the field if I can’t even watch my own six.” 

Jason frowns. “Sure, kid.”

. 

Lately, Tim’s thoughts have been swirling. His leg is healed. With a bone regeneration serum courtesy of Wayne Enterprises’ Biotech program (the very same one whose P.R. crisis had gotten him into this mess), Tim is healed up and walking within a month. After that, most of his time is spent in the Watchtower with Barbara, or down in the Cave, working with tech. 

Tim is getting antsy. He’d been able to sneak out a few times to patrol, but Bruce had been stubborn about the whole thing. 

Alfred had taken him aside one day, saying, “Master Timothy, if I may. Master Bruce has been struggling immensely with your kidnapping. I believe it reminds him of what happened with young Master Jason.” 

Alfred’s reasoning made sense, at least to Tim. He understood how the similarities between his kidnapping and the situations leading up to Jason’s death are similar. He knew that Bruce is still haunted by what had happened to Jason, enough that he wouldn’t talk about it, but would occasionally lapse into fits of overprotectiveness. 

Tim hopes that’s all this is. 

The nightmares are the worst part. 

Tim is always exhausted, even without cramming nightly patrols into his packed schedule. He tries his best to sleep, he really does, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is the Scarecrow’s masked face. 

He still hasn’t been able to tell anyone what the toxin had shown him. 

It had been a new version, and Tim had been the first human test subject. It hadn’t just shown him his own fears, but it had brought his entire unconscious mind to the forefront of his psyche. 

(Tim Drake’s subconscious is apparently not a fun place to be, Tim learned.)

The thoughts he had… They are buried deep for a good reason.

So, every night in his dreams, Tim watches Jason die. He watches his mother die, watches Barbara beaten to paralysis, sees Damian reaching out to him, a pleading look in his eyes, and blood dribbling down his chin. Some nights, it is Alfred, a gaping hole in his chest, or Bruce, riddled with bullets. Only one thing is consistent: everyone Tim Drake loves dies, and it is always his fault. 

.

He is cleared by Bruce to go back into the field in late January. 

Tim is more careful now. He remains concentrated, refuses to let his fatigue slow him down. 

. 

Sometimes, when Tim wakes up from nightmares, he vomits. He is so disgusted by it that he stops eating dinner. The vomiting turns into dry heaves; the skipping dinner turns into skipping lunch and breakfast.

.

Tim starts padding the suit nearly four months after the kidnapping. Every morning, he drags himself out of bed and stares at his reflection, shirtless and gaunt. 

Tim knows his BMI was low, to begin with. He knows that he didn’t have the weight to spare, knows that he had to keep his strength up, knows that it is his responsibility to cover Bruce’s six, and he can’t do that if he’s half-starved to death. 

The thing is, Tim can’t make himself eat. He still has nightmares every night, but he doesn’t vomit anymore. He  _ could _ start eating again, but part of him doesn’t even want to try. 

_ God _ , just the thought makes his gut roil, his whole body wracked with anxiety so intense that he can feel it in his fingertips. 

He has it under control, though. He knows what he’s doing. Tim knows what an eating disorder is. He’d know if he had one. He doesn’t. What he’s doing is logical, pragmatic. He isn’t trying to be skinny; he  _ can’t _ have an eating disorder.

He has it under control. 

Really, he does. 

. 

Jason meets up with Tim every night on patrol. He doesn’t kill anyone when he’s with Tim, only injures and sometimes seriously maims. With Jason, Tim gets through his rounds quicker. They have time to wander around Chinatown, get coffee, sit on rooftops, and try to spot the stars through a cloudy, smoggy sky. 

Tim isn’t sure why Jason is choosing to spend time with him, but it makes him realize just how lonely he really is. 

Some nights, Tim scoots closer to Jason on the rooftop, leaning into the older boy’s warmth. Jason wraps an arm around his shoulders, tightening his grip for just a moment before relaxing, as if assuring himself that Tim is really there with him. 

. 

Jason stops calling him “replacement.” That’s the other thing Tim notices with time. 

Jason calls him “Babybird” one morning, sighing it in a gruff voice, almost a grunt, pulling Tim closer as they watch the sunrise over Gotham. 

Tim flushes a deep purple-red, and Jason laughs. 

The nickname sticks.

. 

Kori and Roy leave Gotham; Jason stays behind. 

. 

Tim’s suit is getting loose again, Tim notices; he’ll need to add more padding soon.

.

Jason kisses Tim on the Vincefinkel Bridge in late September, mask rolled up past his nose, hand in hand. 

_ I have this under control, _ Tim thinks to himself,  _ It’s under control. I’m in control. _

. 

“Red… Robin.” 

“Orphan. Hey, what’s up?” Tim winces at the weakness in his own voice. 

“No.” Cass shakes her head, “Timothy. What is up… with you?”

Cass has been getting better at communicating her thoughts lately, Tim notices with a detached kind of pride. It takes him a moment to process the fact that she’s asked a question. “Oh,” He says, “Not too much. I’m just stressed with W.E. stuff is all.” 

Tim should know better than to lie to Cass by now; she can read him like a book. He’s a little too tired to care, though. He doesn’t notice her flinch at his lie; he doesn’t notice the way her shoulders slump with disappointment. He barely even notices when she melts into the shadows without a sound.

.

The suit needs more padding in the coming months. Tim is losing more weight, ribs poking through his skin. 

It is March now. Tim has lost almost thirty pounds. Tim makes his living working in numbers, so he knows what his own statistics look like. He’s in the red zone, he knows, as far as his BMI is concerned. He can’t seem to do anything about it anymore. It’s as though the snowball’s built up so much momentum, increased so exponentially, that there’s no hope of stopping its progress. 

He’s sure he could stop it if he really wanted to, though. 

Damian mocks him for the heavy sweaters, but Tim is cold. Sometimes, out on patrol, his fingertips faded to a grayish-blue. He is always cold. So, so cold. 

But he has it under control. 

_ He is under control.  _

. 

This thing with Jason is progressing, Tim realizes. They started small: coffee shops and movie theatres, patrolling together. They’re at Tim’s apartment now, streaming  _ S7VEN _ and relaxing in each other’s company.

Tim had run out earlier, in a panic, realizing that he had nearly nothing in his fridge except for some expired milk and old broccoli.  _ No point in stocking your kitchen when you don’t eat anything anyway.  _

Tim is wearing three long-sleeved shirts under his sweater, loose sweatpants tucked into thick socks. The layers are enough to make him look bulkier, less fragile. He is curled on the cushions of the couch, his head on Jason’s chest, Jason’s arm over his back. 

Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so warm. 

. 

It’s been almost six months since the beginning of this thing with Jason. 

At the beginning, Tim had told Jason that he needed to take it slow, that he isn’t sure how far he is ready to go. Jason’s taken it in stride, been patient and wonderful, never says anything, and Tim still isn’t ready. 

One day, at Tim’s apartment, they’re on the couch. Tim’s in Jason’s lap, kissing him with intent. He rolls his hips down against Jason’s, eliciting a groan from the broader man. “ _ God _ , Tim,” Jason groans, rocking his hips up to meet Tim’s in a steady grind. “You have no idea what you do to me.  _ No idea _ .” 

But then, his hand. His hand snakes its way up to Tim’s thigh, past his ass, past his hip, settles on his waist. Jason grips down on the flesh there (mostly fabric; Tim is wearing almost five layers today), and Tim is suddenly hit with a cold rush of fear, all arousal vanishing in an instant. 

Tim jerks back from Jason’s touch, suddenly choked up and breathless in an altogether unpleasant way.  _ He’s going to feel it _ , hisses a voice somewhere in Tim’s skull. He’s _ going to feel how disgusting you are, how undeserving you are of everything you have. Unworthy, a burden to your team and your family— _

“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” Jason’s face swims in Tim’s vision, blue eyes wide and scared and concerned. “Tim, is it something I did?” 

The swirling darkness in Tim’s gut widens, his thoughts spinning out of control. He’s hit with a rush of nausea, fear like ice in his veins. 

He stands up, stumbles from Jason’s lap, breath coming in fits and starts, heaving pants. “I can’t- I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I just need… I need to go, I-”  _ Maybe I don’t have this so under control, _ he thinks to himself as the world narrows to a darkened pinpoint, and he loses consciousness.

. 

Tim’s eyes crack open. He is staring at his bedroom ceiling. He sits up, wincing when he feels his head swirl. 

Sitting in a chair, hands braced on his knees, is Jason. 

He is not looking at Tim. 

His knuckles are white.

“We need to talk.”


	3. the collapse continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim finally talk. Things go right, and then they go wrong.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There's no inflection in Jason’s voice; his tone like ice, so juxtaposed to the warmth Tim is used to. 

“Tell you what?” 

Tim knows, of course he does. He knew before Jason says anything, knew that he isn’t wearing the shirt he passed out in, knew that Jason saw him— now Jason knows how disgusting he is, knows everything that’s wrong about him—

Jason sighs, runs his hands through his hair. Tim swallows down a lump in his throat: Jason is barely past twenty years old, and yet here he is looking more than twice that. There are circles around his red-rimmed eyes, a tremor in his hand that would likely have been unnoticeable to the untrained eye. 

He looks so tired.  _ That’s all my fault _ , Tim thinks to himself. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Tim.” Jason’s voice cracks, a weak, ugly thing. “Don’t fuck with me and act like you have no idea what you’re doing to yourself.”

And it’s like a dam breaks somewhere inside Tim’s heart. There’s a vice closing around his throat and all the things he hasn’t felt in months—the panic, the heartache, the anger, the fear— come crashing over him like a wave, knocking him off his feet and sweeping him under their current. 

He’s not sure when he started crying, but Jason’s there, suddenly, strong arms wrapped around Tim’s shaking torso. “Hey, baby, it’s okay." His voice cracks, eyes watering no matter how he focuses on centering himself. "Christ, it’s not. It’s not okay, not at all, but I’m here,” Jason holds him tighter, “I’m here, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, more to himself than to Jason, an internal monologue that is given voice in the heat of his panic. “So sorry. So, so, sorry.” 

“Fuck.” Jason’s voice sounds choked, Tim realizes, once he’s calmed down enough to realize things again. “Shit, Babybird, I knew something was up with you, but I had no idea-” He buries his head further in the junction of Tim’s shoulder. “I had no idea. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

He’s crying, Tim realizes. Jason Todd. Is crying. Because of him. “Fuck. No,” Tim says, “I’m sorry. You… Shit, you die, and you come back, and this is the shit you have to deal with? I’m sorry. I… This was a good thing, and I ruined it, and I’m sorry.” 

“Was?” Jason lifts his head, eyes wide and bewildered. “Was a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Tim says, “I… I mean, I’m damaged goods. I’m as damaged as they come. I mean, what? One dose of Scarecrows fuckin’ fear toxin and I’m, what? Out of comission? A 24/7 pity party? I… If you want to leave, I get it.” He bites his lip. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Jason stiffens. “Timothy Drake, you listen to me and you listen carefully.” His eyes lift to meet Tim’s, his gase electrifying in a way that it’s never been before. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. One of the smartest, bravest, most incredible people I have ever known in my life, and I love you.” 

Tim feels the blood drain from his face, knows he looks as shocked as he feels because Jason chuckles, places a warm palm against Tim’s cheek. “I know,” Jason says, smiling sadly, “This isn’t… How I imagined telling you. I had a date planned, with Italian and a live musical and maybe a miriachi band. I… This isn’t how I wanted it to go down, but it’s still true.”

He smiles. “I love you, Tim, damaged or not. Nothing can change that, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got your back. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Tim whispers, feeling like he’s got his feet on the ground for the first time in months. “Yeah, I’m good.”

.

“We should go to the manor.” 

“What?”

“As much as it pains me to be around Bruce,” Jason sighs, “I need their help. You— _ we _ — are gonna need their help.” 

“No.” 

Jason looks up, startled. “What the hell, Tim? What do you mean,  _ ‘no _ ?’”

“I mean I can’t, okay? Christ, Jason, I can’t, I can’t.” Tim’s breathing speeds up, breaths becoming more rapid, more shallow. “I can’t let them see me like this—Damian, Babs, Dick…  _ Bruce _ .” He shakes his head, “No. Just… Give me a chance, okay?”

Jason frowns, face going from startled and angry to concerned and understanding almost instantly. Tim is  _ ashamed, _ he realizes. He’s worried about what the team— his friends— are going to think of him. “Hey, it’s not like that, baby bird. If you were sick or got hurt on patrol or something, you’d go to to the manor, right? If it was bad? You’d let Alfred fix you up and you’d let Dick dote on you and you’d let Bruce worry about you in that weird, brooding way he has.” 

“So?”

“So,” Jason smiles, “This is the same as that. You’re hurting; let us help you.” 

“This is different, Jason. This is… it’s  _ different. _ ” Tim curls down into himself, suddenly cold. “Remember when I got blown up by all those drones? How I almost died? I was so scared. I was so, so scared. But that was nothing compared to how I feel right now.” 

Jason frowns, opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it. The furrow in his brow remains. Tim takes that as his cue to elaborate. “This is like everything… It’s all gone. Any armor that I had, it’s all stripped away. Everything that I’m ashamed of, it’s all out in the open, and it hurts. It hurts for even just you to see; I can’t imagine… I can’t imagine having everyone know. I’m sorry.” 

Jason sighs. “Okay. Okay. That’s fine, I get it. I do think we need help, though, okay?” 

It’s Tim’s turn to look contemplative, confused. “What?”

Jason looks uncertain. “Roy and Kori.” Tim’s eyes widen and Jason hurries to explain. “Look, just… Roy’s an ex-addict, okay? If anyone’s an expert in kicking bad habits, it’s him. He’s been through so much therapy he’s practically got a fuckin’ MD at this point.” He chuckles, a little sad. “Kori’s been through some shit, too. If anyone knows trauma, it’s her. I mean, fuck, she was held captive for  _ years _ . She… She’s been abused in just about every way a person can be. She’s helped me work through so much — they both have. They can help you, too, if you let them.”

Tim frowns. “Can I think about it?” 

Jason chuckles, “‘Course, sugar. Take the night, let me know in the morning, okay?” 

Tim sighs, settling back into the couch. “Yeah, okay.”

.

Jason thinks things are going well. 

Of course, as soon as he lets himself feel good about that, things start to fall apart. 

When he wakes up, it’s to Tim’s soft snores. He wants to stay in the moment, soak in the happiness and peace. Instead, all he can see are Tim’s sharp cheekbones, the shallow pockets between his knuckles, the hard lines of his body beneath the sheets. It’s all Jason can do not to vomit. 

The worst part is, even like this, Tim is beautiful. It’s a sharper kind of beauty, a little darker. He looks faded, though, like he’s dissolving down to the bone. Fragile. Brittle. 

Jason rolls out of bed. 

In the kitchen, he starts the coffee machine, contemplates making waffles, decides on eggs and toast. Just as the coffee is done, Tim stumbles into the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips and tucked into a pair of thick socks. He’s wearing three sweaters, Jason notices, glancing at the thermostat. It’s barely fifty degrees. 

Tim hops up onto the counter, a mug in hand. “Thanks,” He says, not meeting Jason’s eyes. 

“Hey, no problem,” Jason says, leaning down to give Tim a peck on the forehead. “Here.” He slides a plate over to Tim, an egg and two pieces of toast.

He sees Tim’s expression fall, sees the moment that his resolve begins to slip. Tim takes a deep breath and Jason slides him a fork, turning around to busy himself making coffee. He doesn’t want to pressure Tim, doesn’t want to stress him out. 

When he turns around, Tim’s got a smile plastered on his face, half the first egg already eaten. “It’s really good, Jason. Thanks.”

Jason smiles in relief. He’s not dumb enough to think that one good meal will solve Tim’s problem, but he’s certainly willing to believe in small victories. The next ten minutes pass in relative peace. Tim seems like he’s doing okay. He’s a little antsy, anxious-looking. After a few minutes, he gets up from the table. “I’ll be right back. Gonna hit the head.”

“‘Kay,” Jason says, getting up from the table, dishes in hand. “I’ll take care of the dishes.” 

“Thanks.” Tim’s smile is like the sun. 

Jason is drying the plates, smiling to himself, when he hears it. His blood runs cold and he feels sick. “No,” He says, making his way across Tim’s apartment as quickly as he can, ear pressed to the bathroom door. It doesn’t take a meta-human with superhearing to hear Tim’s retching. 

_ Christ. _ “Tim!” Jason bangs on the door, “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you're doing. Let me in. Come on, don’t do this.  _ Fuck,  _ Tim, open the door.” A series of coughing and gagging noises echo beyond the door in response. 

“I’m fine,” Tim’s voice is harsh, rough, when he says, “Go away. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Let me in, Tim, or so help me God, I will knock down this fucking door.” 

“I said,  _ go away. _ ”

“Fine,” Jason growls, steps back, and knocks the door down with one well-placed kick. What he sees on the other side is almost enough to knock him flat on his ass. 

Tim is on the floor, forehead resting on the edge of the toilet bowl. He’s pale and sweaty, eyes teary and red. There’s vomit in the toilet bowl and a wadded up tissue in one of his hands. He looks about ten minutes from death, fucked up and ill. 

“Jason,” He croaks. 

It’s like something inside of Jason snaps when he sees Tim, crumpled on the floor and looking even more broken than he did before. Or, Jason thinks, maybe ‘snaps’ isn’t the right description. It’s more like something collapses— an implosion in his chest, sucking the air out of his lungs and freezing the blood in his veins.

Jason read a book about black holes, once. For stars above the  Landau-Oppenheimer-Volkoff limit— stars bigger than the sun; incomprehensibly huge— no force exists to resist gravity’s inward pull. The star collapses into itself. It becomes a black hole. 

There was one line of text that Jason remembered vividly from the book. ‘_Hence_,’ it read, ‘_the_ _collapse continues with nothing to stop it.’_

That was how Jason felt, watching Tim curl into himself on the bathroom floor, like his world had collapsed inward with nothing to stop it. He had lost his footing, a star collapsed. He wasn’t sure, though, if the imploding star was in Tim’s chest or his own. 


	4. opening up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kori and Roy pull up to the party; Jason angsts; Tim gets some food for thought. 
> 
> (OR)
> 
> Roy tells Tim about his experiences with addiction, inspired by but not completely compliant with the events of [Snowbirds Don't Fly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snowbirds_Don%27t_Fly)

Roy and Kori arrive less than an hour after Jason makes the phone call. Kori walks in first, wrappig Jason in a tight hug as soon as she steps over the threshold. “Jason, we were so sorry to hear about Tim. How… How is he doing?”

“Pretty shit. I mean, I had to call you guys, didn’t I?” Jason sighs, shrugging his way out of her embrace. He takes a step back, collapsing onto the couch and dropping his head into his hands. “I set up the guest bedroom for you guys,” He said. “Tim’s in his room, I’m taking the couch. I just… I don’t know… What am I doing wrong?”

“Hey,” Roy’s voice is steady, calm. He takes a seat on the couch next to Jason, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “It’s not you, man. You gotta remember that. This… thing? With Tim? It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, probably.” 

“But no matter what happens,” Kori says, sitting herself on Jason’s other side, “It will not be your fault. Do you understand?” 

“Yeah,” Jason mutters. “Yeah, I get it. Doesn’t make it a whole lot easier, though, does it?”

“Seeing those we love in pain will never be easy,” Kori replies sagely. “That is why we must be strong for them.” 

.

When Tim hears the door to his room creak open and then close with an audible _ click _, his first instinct is agression. He can tell it’s Roy right away—footfalls too heavy to be Jason’s and too quiet to be the sharp clacking of Kori’s heels. 

_ Too heavy to be Jason’s. _ The thought is strange—somehow, it rubs Tim the wrong way, the idea that Jason’s steps should ever be soft or tentative, unsure in any way. That’s what he’s become, though. That’s what Tim’s made him into— _ unsure. _Uncomfortable, walking on eggshells. 

Tim doesn’t bother sitting up in bed, doesn’t even bother rolling over. Instead, he mumbles, words unkind and harsh, bitter enough that they almost burn his throat, “So, what? They sent you in first? Thought you’d be more adept to handle the crazy or something?” 

Roy is silent. 

Tim feels guilty as soon as the words leave his mouth. Kori and Roy are here to help him as best they can. They’ve gone out of their way to be here for him—even though they don’t really know him for shit—and that scares him. But that doesn’t give him any right to be a douche about it. “Sorry.”

Roy is quiet for the next few moments, as if considering his next words carefully. Finally, he takes a deep breath. 

“I used to be a heroin addict.” Roy’s voice is quiet, but not timid. His honesty shocks Tim to the core, enough that he finally sits up in bed, eyes locking on Roy’s. 

“What?”

Roy shrugs, walking over to the window. The curtains are heavy, blocking out most of the sunlight that should be peeking through. There’s a crack between them, though, and that’s where Roy stands, gazing out at Gotham. “Yeah,” He says, “I was a weird case, actually. You know, usually alcoholism comes first? You start with drinking, or some other small-time vice—most people do, anyway—then you graduate to the heavier stuff.”

“But… Not you?” Tim guesses. He hates guessing. Tim likes to be the guy who knows things, intimately and in enough detail that every variable is defined. Roy’s past… Only Dick really knew him back then, but Dick doesn’t talk about it. Tim tried to ask once, when he was younger. He can still remember the way Dick’s entire face had changed, the way his friend had shut down and stopped talking. Tim never tried to ask again. 

“No, not me.” There’s darkness in Roy’s words, and it chills Tim to his core. He hasn’t spent much time with Roy, really, but the few times that they’ve worked together, he’s only ever known him to be happy. Lighthearted, always witty and quick. Never dark, not even in the bleakest situations. “I was the other way around, actually.” 

“What?”

“I only started drinking once I got off smack.” Roy shrugs. “Weird, I know. I never actually meant to get hooked on anything, but… The first time the Titans broke up, it was rough. My dad and Brave were both dead, my mom was MIA, and Ollie had just lost his fortune. He was out of the country, hanging with Hal. Didn’t have time for me. He’d left me behind, just like my parents, like Brave, like the Titans. I was so fucking lonely.” 

Tim frowns. He’s not sure where Roy’s going with this, but he doesn’t want to interrupt. He’s always wanted to understand Roy’s past, and here he is, laying it all out for him as clearly as Tim could ever have hoped for.

“Anyway, it’s a cliche from there. I fell in with the wrong crowd, shot up once in a moment of weakness and then I was hooked. I spent the next few months shooting up in secret, hiding and stealing and lying to the people I loved the most. I thought I was going to die. Hell, part of me _ wanted _ to die. Every time I shot up, it was like kissing death, seeing how close I could get to the edge without falling over. Some days, I passed out hoping that I wouldn’t wake up again.”

“So how did you stop?” Tim’s voice shakes a little bit. He sees where Roy’s going with this now, he thinks. It’s a parallel to Tim’s own story. 

_ Except you’re not sick _ , he reminds himself. _ Roy was sick, but you’re okay. You’re fine. You have this under control. _

“Ollie, mostly, but Dick helped.” 

“Were you two ever… Together?” 

Roy lets out a bark of surprised laughter, turning away from the window. “Perceptive, aren’t you?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, we fucked a few times. We were never together the way you and Jason are, though. Never… It was never that deep with us. He helped pull me out, though.” 

“But not all the way.”

“I mean, at first, it was great. As great as any detox, anyway. I actually felt like there was hope for me, you know? But there’s stuff about detoxing that they don’t tell you. Doing drugs… It’s a temporary fix. You shoot up to try to fill up this gaping hold in your heart, but when the drugs are gone, the hole is still there. Sometimes, it’s bigger than it was before. That’s how it was for me.” Roy sits down on the edge of Tim’s bed, eyes earnest and sad in a way Tim’s never seen them before. “The hole was so fucking big, it felt like I was being swallowed up by it. It didn’t happen gradually; there weren’t any warning signs. I just woke up one day and I suddenly… Couldn’t. I couldn’t do it anymore.” 

“Then what?”

“I started drinking. I was on a bender for almost six days before Dick tracked me down. I don’t remember much of it, even now. I just remember the way he looked at me, like he didn’t even know who I was. I remember how that look cut me to the core.” Roy shrugged, “Didn’t stop me, though. I kept going, on and off, for almost a year after that. I hid it better. There was a period where, for a few months, I wasn’t sober at all. I would wake up and drink until I could barely walk, then I’d keep drinking all day. Maintain the baseline, you know? Anyway, for the longest time, people thought I was getting better. In reality, I was spiraling further down than anyone ever thought possible. Even Ollie, with his history of partying… Even he couldn’t tell.” 

“But people must have figured it out, somehow, right?”

“I tried to kill myself.”

Tim feels his blood run cold with the confession. He knew Roy was an ex-addict, an ex-alcoholic. He never knew it was as bad as all this, though. Never imagined that someone like Roy might ever try to… Kill himself. “Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Roy shrugs again, like it’s no big deal, but Tim can tell that talking about this pains him. “I mixed sleeping pills and booze. Took a handful and then drank until I passed out. Dick found me less than an hour later, on the floor, covered in my own vomit. He saved my life that night. Forced me to get clean and made sure I stayed that way.” 

“Did it last?” 

“Hell, no.” Roy smiles, “I relapsed after that. Again and again, more times than I care to remember. Eventually, I stayed clean, though. You know why?” 

“Why?”

“Because I was ready. Because I wanted to. When you’re that deep, you’re the only one who can pull yourself out.” Roy looks at Tim sadly, “The same goes for you. Jason can’t save you, as much as he wishes he could—and, Christ, does he ever—but you _ can _. You can save yourself, Tim. You just have to realize that you want to. Just do us all a favor and think about it.” 

With that, Roy smiles at Tim one more time, pats him on the leg through the blanket, and leaves, closing the door gently behind himself.


	5. always at risk

“I don’t get it. You told him everything?” Jason frowns from where he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands and a rapidly cooling cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Kori is in the kitchen, likely listening in but still trying to give Jason and Roy space to talk alone. 

“Yeah,” Roy shrugs, “I think he needed to hear it, too.” 

“To feel less alone?”

“Yeah, but also to know it’s okay to ask for help.” Roy takes a sip of his own coffee, marginally warmer than Jason’s, and continues: “It’s like… What Tim is going through right now is almost like a kind of addiction. It’s more similar to what I’ve gone through than even he realizes, I think. And it’s… The biggest thing to remember is that it’s not his fault at all, you know? Most days, especially the bad ones, I blame myself for what happened to me, even though modern medicine would refute that with something along the lines of ‘addiction is a disease.’” Roy shrugs, “Tim’s addiction isn’t his fault at all. He never chose to take that first hit; it’s been inside him all along.” 

Jason looks ill. “I never thought about it that way.”

“Doctors don’t… They don’t really understand eating disorders,” Roy continues, “But most theorize that they’re a result of the complex interplay between biological, chemical, genetic, and environmental factors.” 

Jason takes a deep breath, “Meaning that Tim’s… Illness is…”

“He was probably always at risk, but the trauma of the Scarecrow incident brought everything to a peak somehow. That’s what I think, anyway.” Roy takes another swig of coffee, “But I’m no MD.” 

The last words are said with weight, the meaning behind them obvious. “You think he should see a doctor?”

“Jason,” Roy moves to sit next to his friend on the couch. “I’m sure the changes in Tim have been gradual—too gradual to be noticable—but they’re not insignificant. He’s… He’s emaciated, Jason. He’s barely a shadow; I can hardly see his body under the blanket. His face is gaunt and he… He looks fucking awful, okay?” 

“I know.  _ God,  _ I know. How did I not notice?”

“It happened so slowly—how could you? The only reason it’s so obvious to me is because I haven’t seen him in months. There’s no way you could have noticed.” Roy puts an arm around his friend’s shoulders, “And, remember: Tim’s literally a genuis. If he tried to hide something from you—and I mean really tried—you’d never know. The only reason you even found out was because it got this bad.”

“I hate that,” Jason sighs, “I hate that I didn’t know him well enough to see the signs. Hate that I didn’t realize what was happening until it was this far along.” 

“I know, buddy.” Roy squeezes his friend’s shoulder, “I know.”

.

Tim wakes up screaming. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s awake right away, so the screaming doesn’t stop. The blood and the stench and the rot from his dream follow him into the waking world. Arms tighten around his chest, costricting, suffocating. Tim’s panicking. 

Then, he hears the voice. 

“Tim, Tim, it was just a dream. Tim, wake up. Baby, it was just a dream, come back to me. Wake up,  _ wake up. _ ” 

Slowly, Tim comes back to himeself. He’s in his bed, and it’s Jason’s arms that are around him, Jason’s voice whispering in his ear, Jason’s grip tight on his arms, Jason’s face buried in his hair. His breathing slows, heart still hammering in his chest. “ _ Shit _ .” 

Jason pulls back when he realizes that Tim’s awake. Not far, but just enough so he can see the other boy’s face. “Christ, Tim. Your arms. We need to… I need to fix them. Come on; bathroom.” 

Tim knows most of Jason’s sense of urgency is borne out of a desire to do something, anything, in a situation in which he feels helpless. That’s why he doesn’t object when he feels Jason pick him up, blanket and all, and carry him to the en-suite. 

Jason gently sits Tim on the edge of the bathtub, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. Tim looks down at his arms as Jason pulls out the first-aid kit. At some point in his dream, Tim must have started scratching at his arms. There are scrapes there, blood beginning to gather in places where the skin was torn a little deeper. There’s blood caked under Tim’s fingernails, too, incriminating. 

Jason takes one of Tim’s cold hands into his own warm ones. “I’m sorry,” He says, antiseptic wipe in hand, “This is going to sting.” 

Tim doesn’t even blink. 

. 

Jason sits on the edge of Tim’s bed, still holding his hand. Both his arms are freshly bandaged, fingernails cleaned of dried blood. Tim is asleep again, face deceptively peaceful. “I’m sorry,” Jason whispers into the darkness, “I’m sorry.” 

Jason brushes Tim’s hair back, kisses his boyfriend on the forehead as gently as he can. “I love you,” He whispers to an empty room.


	6. psychobabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tim goes to therapy (its about fucking time lol)

Tim wakes up the next day, exhausted as hell and disoriented, staring at a Jason-sized dent in the mattress next to him. _ It’s still warm _, he realizes, resting a hand on it experimentally. He wiggles his body a little, trying to roll to his back and sit up, maybe get his bearings. 

He sits up to see Jason walking back into the room, holding two cups of coffee, one in each hand. “Hi,” He says, smiling softly at Tim. 

_ Christ, _ thinks Tim, _ he really looks awful _ . He feels bad for thinking it, but it’s true. Jason’s still the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, but he looks haggard and exhausted, like he’s aged ten years in the last three days. Tim is struck with the sudden urge to apologize. _ This is all my fault. _

Suddenly, Jason’s sitting next to him on the mattress, coffee forgotten about on the bedside table. He reaches out and puts a warm hand on Tim’s shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Fine,” Tim says, not feeling ready to meet Jason’s eyes. He doesn’t shy away from the touch, though. Instead he looks down at the sheets. He catches notice of his arms, runs his fingers over the clean, white gauze wrapped so carefully.“More clear-headed than I’ve felt in awhile, actually. But, uh… What happened last night? I only remember bits and pieces.”

“You were screaming. In your sleep. I think you were having some sort of a nightmare. I came in here to see what was wrong and you were just screaming, thrashing around and scratching your arms in your sleep. I tried to wake you up, but I couldn’t right away. I…”

“Sorry if I freaked you out,” Tim chuckles darkly, pain spiking in his chest. _ He probably thinks you’re some sort of freakshow, now, even more than before. Nice one, Timmy. _

“Hey, none of that shit, Tim.” Jason hooks two fingers under his boyfriend’s chin, guides Tim’s face up so he’s forced to meet Jason’s gaze. “I can practically hear the gears turning in that head of yours. You didn’t freak me out, and you don’t need to apologize, okay? I was just… worried about you. I always worry about you.”

Tim lets out a breath, leaning into Jason. “I’m sorry I let it get this bad. I don’t… I talked to Roy yesterday.” Jason nods, encouraging, “I think I want to get help. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to someone yet, and I don’t… I don’t want to go to any hospitals. And I can’t… I don’t know what I’d say to Stephanie and Cass and Alfred and… Bruce. I don’t think I can tell them, yet.”

Jason’s hand is rubbing slow circles on Tim’s back, steady and grounding. He smiles softly, “So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to really talk to someone about it, but… I want to try. I think.”

“We can do that.” Tim looks up at Jason’s face, biting his lip when he sees his boyfriend smiling through tears. “We can do that.”

.

Dr. Manelli’s office smelled like lavender. It was clean, but not sterile, and it seemed welcoming enough. The walls were painted a warm beige, and a large window looked out toward the expanse of Gotham. 

“So, Tim, I talked to Jason on the phone. He explained that you thought setting up a visit might be beneficial to you.” 

“Hm.”

“I also want you to know that I know about your lifestyle. Jason didn’t tell me which mask you are, but I am aware of your… nighttime activities. I want you to know that my office is completely secure and that I have had experience working with vigilantes in the past. If you decide that your identity is a secret you’d rather keep to yourself, though, that’s totally okay. It’s up to you, yeah?”

“Hm.” Tim wants to be upset that Jason told the doctor about Robin, but he can’t really being himself to feel anything. _ He didn’t even tell her that you were Robin, stupid, _ his brain echoes, _ just that you were a mask. And, anyway, why are you mad? She needed to know. Therapy doesn’t work if you can’t be honest, and if we’re being honest, Robin’s the whole reason we’re even here right now. _

Dr. Manelli smiles, taking Tim’s monosyllabic responses in stride. “I just wanted to take this first meeting to tell you a little bit about my privacy policies, okay? Maybe afterwards, we can talk about what you’re looking to take away from this, but there’s no pressure. Feel free to let me know at any time if you’re uncomfortable and want to take a break, yeah?”

Tim nods, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Dr. Manelli drones on for almost twenty minutes about the specific legalities of doctor/patient confidentiality, then another twenty talking about herself. “I feel that it’s easier to build a relationship with my patients if we establish a baseline of trust. I find that it makes it easier to keep our conversations flowing.” Occasionally, she’ll ask a question, gently prompting Tim to respond. Usually, he doesn’t say much, but occasionally she’ll get him to grind out a whole sentence. By the end of the hour, Tim feels almost comfortable, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, even though she never brought up anything about Scarecrow or the food thing. 

“Thank you,” Tim says, looking her in the eyes as he makes his way out the door. It’s the first time he’s made eye contact with her at all. 

Dr. Manelli just smiles, “Don’t mention it, Tim. If you’d like to meet again, you can call in later, okay? Give it some thought.”

“I will,” Tim says seriously.


	7. head above water

When Tim closes the door to Dr. Manelli’s office, he looks up to see Jason sitting in the waiting room. He looks uncomfortable as hell in the shitty, understuffed chair. He’s fiddling with an issue of  _ Vogue _ that Tim’s pretty sure is at least six months old. His eyebrows are pinched together in the middle of his forehead as he stares at the page in front of him, like he’s trying his best to decipher a code. The whole picture is so ridiculous— Jason’s broad, muscular body, the tiny chair, the ratty magazine, his intense concentration— that Tim can’t help himself; he has to laugh. 

It’s not a loud laugh, not strong or deep or half as genuine as his laughs used to be, but it’s something. It’s more than he’s been able to muster in awhile. 

Jason’s head snaps up, eyes wide and bright. He sees Tim’s smile, however small, and his face lights up. “Hey, Tim. How’d it go?” 

Tim feels something warm blossom in his ribs, unfurling in his chest near his heart. “It was okay. I think… I think I’d like to set up another session.”

The look on Jason’s face before is nothing compared to his smile now. “That’s fuckin’ great, Tim. That’s… that’s awesome.” He leans down, arm aroung Tim’s shoulder, body so unbelievably warm, and kisses Tim on the forehead. It’s so gentle, so sweet, so  _ Jason _ , that Tim almsot wants to cry. The warm feeling in his chest grows, expands, metastasizes, spreads through his arms and down to his fingertips. 

_ It almost feels like hope _ , Tim thinks to himself. 

. 

Kori and Roy are crucial to Tim’s stabilization. 

Kori is strong. She’s like a solid steel beam in the midst of folding aluminum. She’s firm and powerful and so controlled. She teaches Tim how to hurt without falling apart, teaches him how to cope without taking it too far. She is uncompromising and stubborn in a way that Tim didn’t know he needed. If he felt bad for making Jason walk on eggshells, he feels grateful that Kori feels no such obligation. 

Roy is a calming presence. He’s constant and steady and he always knows what to say. Sometimes, Tim thinks, it’s like Roy knows what’s going to happen before it happens, like he’s prepared and rehearsed for every potential scenario. If Kori is his scaffolding, then Roy is his safety net. 

And Jason… Jason is his foundation. Without Jason, there is nothing. Jason is the one who is there for the nightmares and the panic attacks and the vomiting and Tim staring at himself in the mirror for hours every day, feeling alienated from his own body. Jason is there for all of the ugliest parts of Tim, there to love them and kiss them and make them less horrible, somehow. 

When Tim is ready, Kori and Roy leave. They have things to do, planets to save, supervillains to defeat. They say goodbye, part as friends. They leave Tim with the promise that they are family now, that if he ever needs them for anything, ever, they will come. 

Tim feels more loved in that moment— surrounded by Jason and Kori and Roy, with his new family—than he has in as long as he can remember. 

It’s like seeing a light at the end of a dark, dark tunnel, Tim thinks, like a breath of fresh air in the Spring. 

_ Like hope. _

_ . _

Recovery is not linear.

That’s one of the most important things that Tim learns over the course of the next few months. Recovery is more like a tangled mess, confusing and frustrating and more than a little bit scary. It takes time, so much time, and an unbelievable amount of commitment and effort. It’s fucking awful, and some days, Tim wants to give up. 

Some days, Tim screams at Jason until his throat is raw, until the tear tracks on his cheeks burn like acid, until he can’t speak anymore. Some days, Jason storms out of the apartment, slams the door, stays out for hours and doesn’t answer his phone. Sometimes, Tim is the one to leave. Every night, though, they both find their way home. 

They always find their way back to each other. Even on the nights that they don’t share a bed, that someone sleeps on the couch or the floor or in the bathtub, neither of them ever really leave. Some days, Tim thinks, it’s like Jason is a planet and Tim is his moon, hopelessly caught up in his orbit, stuck to his side like the world’s most stubborn magnet, inescapably and irreversibly. Not that he’d ever want to leave, given the chance. 

They have good days, too. Days when therapy is exhausting but not draining, days with long walks in the park and visits to animal shelters and long hours at the library reading and napping. 

At some point, Jason gets a therapist, too. “I have a lot more shit going on than I thought I did,” He tells Tim, “A lot of ghosts to put to rest. This helps, I think.”

_ We both have a lot of ghosts _ , Tim thinks to himself,  _ But I think some of mine have finally disappeared for good.  _

. 

Tim starts to gain weight slowly. The first month, there’s almost no noticeable difference, but he starts to feel better. Stronger. 

By the sixth week, he’s able to keep down entire meals again. His face looks less gaunt, the shadows under his eyes and under his ribs less pronounced than they used to be. 

By the end of the second month, Tim can run again. 

Month three, he relapses. It’s only for a few days, nearly a week, but it’s enough to shake his confidence.    
  


“I don’t understand,” He cries, face buried in Jason’s chest, their legs tangled together where they were sitting on the bathroom floor, tiles cold under their bare feet. “I’m trying so hard,  _ so fucking hard _ , I don’t get it.  _ I don’t get it _ .” 

“Ssh,” Jason sighs, tired eyes closing as his head drops back against the wall. “I know, baby. I know, I know. It’s okay, I love you, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Am I, though?” Tim looks up, eyes teary and red. “Am I going to be okay?”

Jason smiles, teary. “I hope so. I have hope, Tim. I know you can pull through this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim murmurs, “Yeah, me too.”

He’s not sure if he really means it. 

Jason strokes his hair until they both fall asleep. 

Tim doesn’t relapse again. 

.

“I think I’m ready to start patrolling again,” Says Tim, one night. It’s been almost four months since he started therapy. He’s put on almost half the weight he lost, stayed (mostly) on the right side of recovery, done everything he was supposed to. 

Jason looks up from the novel in his lap, expression wary. “I don’t…” He sighs. “Look, you’re an adult. It’s your life, Tim. I just… You’ve had a long time to destroy yourself.” Tim flinches, even though he knows Jason’s just being honest, that it’s not even a jab, really. “I think you should give yourself a little bit more time. If it’s that important to you—getting back out there, I mean—I think you should start small. Help Oracle out for awhile. God knows Babs would appreciate the company once in awhile.”

Tim bites his lip. “Yeah. I just… They’re gonna start asking questions, soon. I’ve been off the radar for a really long time now. It’s been _ months.  _ Don’t you think it’s weird?” Jason raises an inquisitive eyebrow. Tim continues: “You know, that they haven’t knocked yor door down looking for me. I wonder why.” 

Jason shrugs. “Probably because I told them you’re here.” 

“You  _ what? _ ” 

“I told them that we were dating, that it was a new thing, that nothing was really official yet, but we were just… Taking it for a test drive. Seeing how things went. After the whole Scarecrow thing, I think they were all just relieved to hear you were willing to take a step back from the lifestyle to recover. I think they all knew you were wearing thin,” Jason says. The ‘ _ they had no idea  _ how _ thin, though _ ,’ goes unsaid.

Relief uncurls in Tim’s stomach, cool and calming. “Thank  _ god _ . So, they don’t know?” 

Jason shrugs. “Honestly? Oracle knows everything. I’d be fucking shocked if she had no idea what was going on.” At Tim’s look of mild horror, Jason amends, “Though, I seriously doubt she knew how bad things really were. If she had, there’s no way she would have let it stay so secret for so long.”

Tim stays silent for a few moments, considering. He inhales sharply, bracing himself to ask the question that’s been bothering him for weeks now. “Are they going to think differently of me? If I tell them, I mean.” 

Jason frowns, his brow furrowed in thought. “No. I think… I think they’re going to think differently of themselves, afterward.” 

“What?” Tim looks up toward Jason, gaze inquisitive. 

“Just, like… All this time, you’ve been falling apart at the seams, right in front of them. And they didn’t even notice. Not one of them. A group of the world’s most talented spies and assassins and detectives and none of them noticed a thing.” Jason shrugs.

Tim frowns, “I never really thought about it like that.” 

“Of course not,” Jason smiled, running a hand through Tim’s hair soothingly, “You were too busy  _ worrying _ . I know it’s hard to believe— what with all of them being such emotionally stunted assholes— but they’re your family, and they love you. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“Okay.”

.

Tim regrets his decision to visit the manor the second that he climbs into the Uber with Jason. Jason’s hand tightens around Tim’s, like he already knows what his boyfriend is thinking. “It’s gonna be okay, Tim.  _ Breathe _ .” 

Tim nods, stares out the window, tries his best to focus on the steady warmth of Jason’s body on the seat next to him. He doesn’t realize he’s biting his nails until Jason gently pulls his hand down away from his mouth. There’s blood on his fingers, Tim notices, blankly, a coppery taste in his mouth. 

_ I don’t think I can do this. _

Before he knows it, the manor’s fence is creeping higher on the horizon. He squeezes Jason’s hand, lets go for a moment to wipe his sweaty palms on his hands. 

_ This is it, _ he thinks to himself,  _ this is actually happening.  _

.

Talking to everyone isn’t quite as bad as Tim was expecting. 

Alfred pute a hand on his shoulder, kisses him in the forehead. “I’m proud of you, my boy.” No  _ Master Timothy, _ no  _ Mister Drake. _ Just  _ my boy _ . Tim feels like a weight has been lifred off his shoulders. He tries to convey his gratitude to Alfred as best he can without saying anything out loud. The butler just nods. He understands. Alfred always understands. 

Tim steels himself before facing the rest of his family. Their reactions are all different, all emotional, all uniquely  _ them. _ Tim loves them all, more than he ever has in his life, maybe. 

Dick cries (a lot), Stephanie hugs him, Damian nods stiffly and looks deeply uncomfortable. Barbara takes him by the hand, tears in her eyes, and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Tim.  _ So sorry _ .” 

Cassandra only looks at him, that deep, soul-searching look that makes Tim’s skin feel too tight on his bones. “You are okay, now,” She says, her eyes darting toward Jason for the slightest moment. It’s not a question, but Tim nods anyway. He is okay, and it’s all thanks to Jason. 

Bruce is the last one. He’s sat in his chair the whole time, staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw twitching almost violently. “I’m sorry,” He says, looking up at Tim, more self-loathing in his eyes than Tim even knew was possible. “I’m sorry.” 

Tim shrugs. “It’s not your fault, Bruce. It’s no one’s fault. Not even mine, really. It just  _ is _ .” 

Bruce nods, his expression softening. He stands, wraps his arms around Tim. “I’m glad you’re alright, son.”

Tim smiles into Bruce’s chest, heart warm. “Me, too,” He says. 

This time, he means it for sure. 


End file.
